His Little Flower
by Bryn Bear
Summary: Three years ago, Detective Iris Michelle came to Gotham City to escape her past. Her past wasn't exactly a happy one. She was constantly haunted by one image, a pasty white face, and a painted crimson smile.
1. Introduction When He Snapped

"You see, my Little Flower. The world is what you would, uh, call . . . _Unfair_?" he licked his cracked painting lips, his hands were busying themselves with the leather straps pinning the young nineteen year old female down. His lips releasing a twisted cackle which echoed throughout the room, the very laugh that made his poor little victim shake in fear.

Tighter and tighter, he pulled the strap out and she winced in pain. How tight would it have to be, until he was satisfied with himself? How much more damage could he possibly cause? How many days had it been in this Hell hole? Two-hundred and forty-eight? More? Her legs were aching. He had pressed them down when he was satisfying his male needs. She could feel the bruises from his eager fingertips on her thighs. The wounds all over were still deep, the marks of his knife play. She knew they needed medical attention, but maybe she would die of infection first. Her hazel eyes were blood-shot, dry. They were eyes that had dried up permanently, never to release tears again. She wasn't a human anymore, no. She lost her humanity the day he pulled into this small room. The torture chamber. She was an object for this insane man's desires. An object for torture, sex, and games. She loathed herself, and she loathed him.

He finished adjusting the straps now. A painted grin on his face. He placed one gloved hand on her thigh and slid it up, slowly. The young woman squirmed, and tried moving her legs away. No use, the straps were just too damn tight. He played with her tattered clothes, and occupied himself with her curves, finally resting his hand against her neck. She didn't look at him, she refused. He did not deserve acknowledgement from her. He tightened his grasp. She couldn't breathe. She began to gasp for air, as her body moved around. He slowly lowered his face to hers. "Look at me." he said, tauntingly calmly. She still refused, she was unresponsive. He had already done his daily ritual, what more could he want. His face was slowly snarling into rage, and he applied more pressure to her gullet. She coughed. "Look at me!" He hissed. Demanding now. Her eyes flashed to his face, and she knew he was getting a high from the disgust depicted in her eyes. He raised his head up to the single ceiling light and giggled.

"That's my girl. Now uh, my dear. How often must we . . ." he licked his lips and scanned her body knowingly. He knew every premature curve, every wound. Her body was a map to him, and he could pinpoint any part he desired. " . . . negotiate what you are again? Hmm?" He slid his hand to her forehead and brushed her greasy brunette bangs away from her eyes. She hadn't showered for almost a year, and he gave her scraps that would get her by, but would never fill her up. She was skinny, too skinny. Like a walking skeleton. She responded with a shake to her head. He smiled. "Good, good, _good_ girl." He lowered his lips and pressed them against her ear. Her stomach knotted. Oh, how she wanted to punch him in the stomach. "And if you ever, ever leave. I _will_ find you and I _will_ have my way with you." She snapped her head over to him as he pulled away and she glared, the only defense she had. He clapped his hands and laughed gleefully. Grabbing the pull string to the light. "Good night, my flower." and the room was darkened.

She was safe, safe for another night. But she wished he would just kill her and get it over with. Greensville City Police weren't coming. She gave up after a few months. This was her fate. Besides, she had nothing to go home to, her parents were dead. She closed her eyes and tried to find something happy to think about. Death. Sweet bitter death. And she drifted off into an uncomfortable slumber.

"Are you sure it's her?" a voice rang out in the darkness. Her eyes opened quickly. Oh no. What if it were one of his goons? Her breathing increased. She couldn't see anything. A few footsteps could be heard, and now she was alert.

"What do you-" she was interrupted by a hand closing over her mouth, she released a few muffled screams.

"Shh. My name is Detective Harris. We're going to get you out of here. Remain calm. Understand?" the deep voice whispered. The young woman nodded her head quickly, then the straps were loosened. And then, the light came on. There they were, angels in uniforms and gun. One whipped off his jacket and placed it over the young woman's shoulders. "Get her out of here. We'll go find Jack another day." One of them scooped her up and ran out of the building, she was safe now. Safe in the back seat of a police vehicle. Her head rested against the cushioned seat.

"It's alright, little missy. Everything is alright." And she believed that was true. She escaped.

The next day was a cloudy one and they were going to raid the building they found the you woman in. SWAT teams were readied, police officers were ready. They were going to find him, if he was still in the building, they highly doubted it, but it was worth the shot. They waited for the signal, and once it was given

They charged the building, kicking open doors, raiding rooms. Until finally they came across _him_. He was in the room where they found the nineteen year old girl was kept, and he was crouched in the corner, laughing. Rocking back and forth and laughing his guts out,. They seized the man and decided to take him to Akrham, and they only heard him repeating one word, "_Iris_."


	2. Detective Iris Keene

Gotham; An industrious city with a persistent amount of crime. A city where the shadows seem to eclipse everything that is in their path. A place where tall skyscrapers stretch and tower over almost every slab of sidewalk, every street lamp. The metropolis of Hell itself. How many crimes did hide under the daily forecasts found on the television? How corrupted has Gotham become? Too corrupted, It was too chaotic.

If you would dare venture into the city you would notice one theme; Darkness. You could not find one trace of a bright colour emerge itself onto the surface of Gotham. Morbid. Morbidness was the norm here. Even the humans inhabiting the city would dress themselves in somber shades of grays, blacks, and sometimes browns. Maybe some crimson reds and navy blues, but not anything to bright to draw attention to those one would not want attention from.

Among the tall buildings one was distinct. The Wayne Tower. One of the most treasured citizens of Gotham owned the corporation himself; Bruce Wayne, Estranged millionaire with an estranged lifestyle who would always arrive to parties with some sort of whore latched on to his arm. Those pretty little things with beach blond hair and soft baby blue eyes, and those long legs they have to show off in those itty-bitty dresses.

Disgusting. The modern day and age would not prohibit a woman to be a woman unless they had a dress that was two-sizes-too-tight and a functioning push up bra with a mountain of breasts. Humiliating, truly embarrassing, Women were now acknowledged as sex-objects instead of life forces with a powerful mind. But, Hell, some of the women liked the attention from those men who thought with the heads below their trousers.

But this young woman would not fall in to that statistic. She didn't care if she was considered odd, or just plain stupid. She knew she was not dim, and she knew she was not a sex-slave. In fact, she was a proud virgin. A young woman with strong moral beliefs, a rare gem to come along.

The sort of rare gem who would place herself into a dangerous situation. No, not in the situation to be saved from a sex-crazy pig, but one where a gun was closed tightly in one hand, and a badge that read, "Detective", that hung loosely over her neck. It was going to be an interesting night tonight, she could feel it in her veins, and the adrenaline started pumping. She had joined the force only a year ago. She was still a young little thing. A beginner. She knew this, she would never admit it to herself but she knew. Gotham reminded her of home, and of the past she was trying to escape. All she could remember was a chuckle, and then pain, and screaming.

Tonight she would be investigating the same old stuff. Men escaping jail, bank robberies. The same old shit. She believed the Police Force was bailing some of

the convicts out. But everyone believed Officer Gordon's judge in character was the best. But what did he know? He was an old cook. She was sure he wasn't only winkling on his outsides but form within as well. But, she had to remind herself; that those men were all they really had. Either take 'em or leave 'em.

"Stop distracting yourself, you Twit." the woman spoke sharply to herself with a bitter tongue. She had no room for distracting thoughts. She needed to focus on her mission. This was really her first major one without someone supervising her. Which was fine. She wasn't a child. She often felt like she was being treated as one. But she didn't care about them. She cared about the "bad guys" lurking the shadows of Gotham.

Sure, they didn't fear her because she was a woman. In fact, that did not help her case. But they knew to watch out because of the badge and to run because of the gun. If it took her to shoot someone in the temple to require some respect, Hell, she'd do it. She did not like being laughed at. She would not tolerate guff from any suspect, if so, she would bash the end of her gun into the side of their thick skulls and teach them how to shut up. She loved feeling powerful. She was infatuated with justice. She enjoyed the sweet taste of victory as another sex offender was locked behind bars.

Detective Iris Keene was about in her early twenties. Twenty three at the latest. She stood to be about five-foot-eight and maybe weighed about one-thirty. She was a petite little thing but you could well identify she was a woman with the defined curves she was given. Her skin was pale, it was a great contrast to the black trench coat she wore broadly over her shoulders, and the black t-shirt underneath it. Her black jeans which were normally baggy, had the legs tucked into a pair of black boots, which barely made any sound as she took some steps. Her brown hair was slicked back into a ponytail and the strands of brunette hair that normally covered her left hazel eye, were pinned back by a bobby-pin. Her hands were hidden under black leather gloves, which actually, helped her grip her pistol a lot more easily than usual. Her usual wardrobe for patrolling.

Iris slowly took a turn over a corner of the local bar, nothing. She paused and glanced around the premises. It was quiet, maybe a little too quiet. She rested her back against the uneven blocked wall of the bar. The neon lights would flicker occasionally, why do you ask that I mentioned this? It was quite distracting to the young lady herself. Everything was a distraction to Iris, lately. She hadn't received all the hours of sleep her body needed to function. Her mind was not as sharp as she would have liked it to be, and her stature was a tad-bit well, slumped. Her veins called out and begged for something, anything. Maybe coffee? This was indeed, going to be a very slow night.

Iris groaned. A slow night. Accelerating amounts of boredom? What's a girl to do?

So little Iris, she leaned against a wall and slowly used her fingertips to roll up one of the sleeves covering her wrists. Her pale skin revealed a few scars. Not the kind of scars you think. Not the self inflicting ones, but ones caused by someone else. Just thinking about him sent shivers down her fragile spine. How could she forget? The painted crimson smile. The messy green hair that was greasy. The hating eyes surrounding by the black makeup. His face of white revealed his insanity. She remembered the room. Oh, how she loathed that room. She could remember it all. The small table. The straps that held her down. The sharp instruments that pierced her skin and made her lungs build up power to release excruciating screams of pain. And his hands? They were hot. Hot with some sort of sick twisted sexual desire. She could still feel him running his palms down from her throat to her breasts, and then her hips, and to the lower regions. It would only be time until he slid her under garments off. She was lucky to escape.

She could remember it well. She was laying on the table. Her womanly areas ached of violation and her eyes lost a spark that once shined. She was beginning to lose hope. Her clothes were tattered and blood stained. It was a horrible thing, to smell your own bodily fluids. She was starting to convince herself that she would never get out. It was a matter of time. Short, sweet, bitter time, before he killed her. She didn't want to die. She was so young. She wanted to live. Then her eyes began to sting of regretful tears. She closed her eyes and said a prayer until she heard the large steel door swing open. Oh God. He was back. Then she felt a new hand clasp itself over her mouth. Her eyes snapped open. And there he was. An angel. He used a knife to sever away the leather straps and she shot up. There were men. Men in uniforms! Police! What a bitter sweet day! When she fled.

But he still left scars. That's why she came to Gotham. To be rid of those memories. But her attempt did not work. She could still feel his hands now and then, all over her skin. She could still hear the laugh. That shrill noise of evil echo through her. And that smile. That haunted her memory the most. But he was gone now. Locked up in an asylum. She would never have to see him again. She placed her hands in her pocket. One grasping a walkie talkie. She used her thumb to flip the on switch. Then the voices came. The voices of the police. If she was needed they would call. She could still hear the same old reports. Drug dealing. A few murders. Gang activity. Nothing that Gordan and the rest of the Police Force couldn't handle.


	3. A Crimson Smile

He could taste her again, it was the middle of the day and he could literally lick his lips and _taste_ her. He hadn't seen her in some time. A white face, blotchy and disfigured with the play of what little light was allowed in the room, stared off into space. He did, however, have that smile on his lips. The day had been a normal one, or at least what you could call normal in this man's books-he'd managed to set fire to a local flag in passing, met with a man that had some form of a request and dealt with the normal people of Gotham in one hell of a verbal bashing. Oh this was so much fun! And the best part, he didn't believe that the police force that ran rampant through the streets realized he'd escaped just yet-and if they had, they were more interested in something else. Now this thought didn't make the male happy, if the people were this comfortable with him being around…then something was truly, deeply wrong.

A clicking noise caught his attention, his mouth moving accordingly as he wet his crimson lips. "Yee-ess?" The barrel of a gun. This didn't please him either. He began to shake, to others it might have looked like he was actually frightened-in all reality, he was laughing. The silent shaking soon became something that could only be described as a convulsion of pure insanity-a laughter that raked the soul of its once brave nature and had the ability to make even the bravest of men shudder. The Joker smiled. "Now now, no need to be so...hasty. Let's talk this out, shall we Mister, oh, what's your name..." He was VERY precise with his words, cutting out the middle man as the words he spoke struck an obvious nerve. He continued however, the bed squeaking lightly as his body weight shifted off of the cushioned sheets and onto the wooden floor-the groan telling anyone who stayed alert in the large warehouse that his weight was now fully on his feet. This was bad, the Joker was infamous for his crazy antics-his odd ways of experimenting on the human psyche, his cruel intentions and lack of pattern when thinking up of these...plans.

"No no! What are you doing!?" THE Joker growled out, grabbing the gun and placing it directly on his forehead, the hand connected to it shaking as the face became all too clear in the lighting. His permanent laugh lines, fading make up, greasy hair. Oh yes, this was the joker. The Joker. And yet THIS MAN decided he'd want to aim a gun he couldn't control at a man who's thinking patterns were SO OBSCURE. "SHOOT ME! If your balls haven't retracted back into your body I suggest you take the initiative and _pull the trigger_."

This man wasn't suicidal, but boy did he love testing just how serious people could be. The clicking of the safety was the next to be heard... and instantly laughter filled the air again. It was an unsigned agreement, his goonies took the opportunity and pounced-the strangers face was revealed and la-di-da it was the very same man he'd agreed to take a job for! "Now talk about your bad business!" He cracked the joke, a hand gripping onto the face of the man as he moved it from side to side slowly. Then, something entered the palm of his purple gloves, a knife that shimmered and sparkled in the light. Joker began to hum, singing to his own tune as the knife began to carve away at the flesh presented to him.

"What's that-" "STOP! PLEASE!" The Joker frowned...he _frowned_ and then pushed his lips out in a thoughtful manner. "Hmmmm...nope!" That was his final answer to nearly everything, the knife sawing through anything he could find until all he saw was a mess of blood and exposed muscle. "Ah! Lookie here boys, my newest masterpiece. What should I call you though?" The screams did not die down, not until the stranger simply passed out from the pain. "Ah, I think that I'm leaning towards 'man with balls in vice.'" His hand went up into the air as if picturing the title in flashing lights above his head. This small moment of victory was short lived, he became bored with the fact that once again he'd found someone who was so damn submissive. What were all the fighters doing?

Ah, right, they were left raped and full of scars. And that was just Batman he was talking about-a laugh soon filled his lungs at this thought. There was not one ounce of remorse in his eyes over his actions-instead his attention was once again on a spot as he went back. Went WAY back. Back to Iris, how he could distinctly remember that TASTE. Of course he enjoyed he company-played 'hard to get' and made things so much more interesting then he was used to. Yes, he hadn't tasted his own blood in quite some time before that. He felt a tingle of pure delight roll up his spine, the pleasure was immense really. "Oh! Where is little Quinny?" He asked Dopey, turning to the male in the clown make-up and grinning. Of course he didn't know, he didn't exactly know WHERE he was-they were all in Gotham...all hidden away in an abandoned warehouse with boarded up windows. It was at this time he took notice of the surroundings...wide open space, cleared out with a now blood stained concrete floor. When in the bloody hell did they manage to get here? He barely remembered leaving the asylum let alone enter this building. His shoes made a tapping noise with each long stride, dark eyes searching around slowly before he finally clapped his hands together in an overly pleased manner. This day was turning out to be a good one. "Well, boys, lets go conduct some prop-po-sitions with the local authori-pigs."

The Joker twisted his face to the side, a crack in his lips revealing yellowed teeth as his eyebrows rose accordingly. The Goons of his found no need to think twice-their leader had spoken and thus signed the contract of their fates. "I should probably sell some of those contracts...oh! A public riot, perhaps? Or a blood bath! Who would think twice if the cities streets were sloshed with blood. Quick! When's the next public event?" He was on a roll now, what better way...to strike fear into the hearts of others then with a simple trick of the mind? Blood. A collection of...let's say pigs blood...let go by the tons into a street during a parade for _children_. He licked the corner of his lips again, a thumb scraping against his forehead as he opened the double doors to the old factory- breathing in the dirty air of the dark city. "Oh Gotham...how I missed thee. I bet you missed me too, dirty girl." He commented, leaving behind those sitting around trying to figure out what social gathering was next-the Joker had bigger fish to fry. He was out for blood, an empty threat and the acknowledgment of the people he cared for the most.

"Hello Po-lice." The joker hissed through his teeth, lock jawed and smilin' as his hunched over appearance swept down the back streets of the city he'd found simply too resisting. Gotham, the city that acted in the same manner as morphine for the criminally insane.


	4. When Duty Calls

Iris was lost deep into thought. So many memories were consuming her. Damn that man with the make-up. He had ruined her completely. It was his fault that she had to come to Gotham. Even though she was here, it was hard to forget everything. You can't just forget when someone takes your virginity and scrapes the hell out of your flesh. You just can't forget his voice when he is moaning in your ear and he expects you to moan back in pleasure. She was lucky the police got to him before she did. She wanted to shoot him, Shoot his body a million times, watch him bleed. She wanted him to crawl around in pain. This thought made her smile. Ah. Sweet, sweet irony.

Her deep thoughts were soon interrupted by some static. Iris' body jumped from the noise. She looked around. Damn. Why must that damn piece of electronics go off at the wrong time? It always seemed to inconvenience her. She could hear muffled voices. Iris was an impatient person. She loved to plan and execute. She wanted things down quickly. She held the walkie talkie up to her mouth and gnawed on the inside flesh of her cheek. This was going to take a while. She could hear sirens, voices, new reporters. God. If she had to be interviewed again she was going to strangle somebody.

"Detective?" Gordon's voice sharply rung out. He was distressed. This puzzled Iris immediately. Gordon was a man that always had it together. He seemed on top of things. Especially with the Batman around. Her eyebrow slightly arched as she parted her lips to speak;

"Yes, Sheriff?" Iris had a nice voice. Crisp and fresh. It wasn't too high, but it wasn't to low. But when she was in detective mode, she had to be mean. She had to be serious. She loved being taken seriously. She loved the respect.

"You may want to make your way down by the old ware house. We need some help."

"Alright. I'll be there. I'll be running. Give me about . . . let's see, fifteen minutes?" she glanced down at her feet and to the direction of the building that was mentioned.

"Alright. Hurry. Over and out."

Iris clicked the walkie talkie off and pushed it back into her pocket. She held onto her pistol and leaped. As soon as her feet touched the ground she started sprinting. Iris had long legs. The sort of legs that model's had. But she never showed them off. She hated showing her skin. It was all the clown's fault. She hated her body. It wasn't her's. It was his. His fingers still dominated her body. She hated that feeling. She ran past the bar she first ventured by and gained speed. The adrenaline was coming. She could feel it pulsating in her veins. It was this that she loved about the job. Sweet justice.

She made her way north through a alley way. There it was, the warehouse. Her hazel eyes didn't focus too much on it. She had a mission. She continued running. Little did she know that the blast from her past was standing there. The man that her mind hated but her body mysteriously screamed for. Yes, after all the shit she had gone through her body hungered for this man. She hated this. She hated that repulsive way of thinking. She denied it. He was crazy, he was nothing. He needed to die. Her hair was swishing and her jacket was flowing. She jumped over a garbage can. She could see the lights. They were close. She could start investigating. She stopped running and started looking for clues. This was a murder she already knew that. She glanced into a window hoping to see something, the warehouse was black.


	5. Let's Wind Up the Doll, Shall We?

The first thing to catch his senses were the lights. Oh the lights! The Lights! That only meant one thing, the sirens were soon to follow and the men with their orderly badges would appear. But, it amused him even more how fragile their thinking could be-only one man he'd met and actually sat down with in that force who managed to stick his ground-only one. Gordon. And since, he refused to speak to anyone but the man when dealing with his...speedy trials you could say. The Joker felt it again, his body pressed back against a cold, wet wall and feeling the liquid of a furnace from above his head seep down the collar of his mis-matched shirt. It was a raid, so who tipped off the cops this time? Well, it was none other then the mighty god-complex man himself. He giggled in a more contempt fashion-yes, giggled, the noise escaping his throat was not a haunting laugh nor a gurgled chuckle but a light heart whimper of the soul. Aha! Metaphors. Who needed them. It saddened him when no one decided to check the alley ways...the back streets that this fine part of the city was built on. Not, but someone came close! _**She**_ was looking through a window, she was trying to be sneaky...but she was no Gordon. His eyes narrowed slowly, that sickening crack of his lips appearing as his body fell further into the shadows. How long had it been? And she was still risking her neck? Literally. The Joker watched her, three whole, confusing and painful years since he'd last _f--ed her brains out_. She was his drug, and for the longest time the memory of her had kept him company-to the point of obsession really. Obsessed was a good word, interested in chaining her up just to see her squirm again.

Joker was brought back to reality when he couldn't see himself in the reflection. This was a no-no. He stepped closer, and closer, and went to grab her hair. Yes, he enjoyed this game of cat and mouse quite well-taking in a deep breath of the scent before blowing out all the air in his nostrils that he could muster up in the allotted time. His body sank back into the shadows, knowing that this would begin the stages of paranoia-only thing was that little Iris wouldn't think she was being followed-she was being followed. _I want her...I want her now_. Joker thought, the idea running in his head. She'd matured so much in three years, had that been his fault? He assumed it instantly-poor whore, her virginity taken by a mad man and innocence thrashed with those long hours in that torture chamber. It was a graphic memory, every detail filling his minds eye as he envisioned the moaning-the weeping, the bites and the screams. Ah, it was bliss. Truly, Iris was his slice of the heaven he'd never experienced.

HA! Who was he kidding? That was all bull shit-the Joker knew it instantly as his tantalizing smile turned into a morbidly lopsided grin. He wanted FLESH and blood, not anything he could control! What was the fun in power if someone didn't bite back at you? "You really need to learn your lesson, Iris. Walking alone in dark alley's...is simply not a safe thing to do! But, I guess it's destiny, after all, this is our second time meeting up in one-is it not?" Let the toying begin. The Joker was primed and ready for Iris-though he had yet to take into account that she HAD changed in the past three years. She seemed stronger, she seemed independent..."Oh! My little Iris has turned into a woman, well isn't that a dream come true. For one of us." He continued, leaning back against the wall with ease. Why? Because the Joker wanted her to begin taking out her frustrations-whether it be through a sudden shot of a gun...he wanted her to do it, and if there was one thing he KNEW she didn't like-it was to be pulled around on strings like that. The Joker, you see, had a remarkable ability to do just that, when the human will was met with a person who became unstoppable by reasoning and rational thinking-they resort to violence. They're driven to it like an ADHD kid to glitter, and especially if that unstoppable force had done the human will wrong…oh, then you've got a party started.

"Mmmm, I can see you're hiding my marks...why's that Iris? Are you ashamed of our little love affair?" There he was again, only this time, the grin dropped into a solid smirk, closed lipped and simply there. Why? Because now he had other plans in mind, in that whacked up brain of his. "'Cause I'm not, in fact..." Joker stopped talking, his eyes darting to the side as a police officer rounded the corner. "Go ahead, tell them I'm here." THe man shouted, interrupting the insane clown's small talk. "Detective! Have you found anything?" The no-named face was pissing Joker off...and all he did was ask one simple question. "One wrong question." He waited, and waited until the man grew nearer. "One. Very. Wrong. Question. you failed to state just what you were aiming to find? I mean really now, if you're going to do your job incorrectly-you might as well do it the right way by giving away this entire case! 'Find anything yet'." The Joker mocked, coming out into the open from behind the officer in blue, knife drawn and wielded-her took one stroke of luck and the stranger's throat was sliced leaving him to inhale and drown in his own bodily fluid. The only one, might he add, that came in abundance. "now be quiet, the lady and I here are having a discussion. So, where were we, Miss Iris? Ah! Yes, we were on the subject of just how much you've...blossomed..." His knife waved itself around carelessly between his gloved fingers, a laugh escaping his lips as Joker hopped over the body. Iris wasn't going to shoot him, because as he'd noticed-they both had this strange...interest in the other. Call it a fascination on her part, a reaction from the body against her mental will-but it was definitely a sexual obsession on his end.

"So, are we going to play nice? Or are we going to have a little lover's quarrel." Ah yes, what it was like to f-ck with emotions-to toy and pull and strain...this was going to be F-U-N.


	6. Why Little Girls Shouldn't Roam Alone

Why did Gotham have to be so dark? This was also a con to this city. It was hard to patrol. What was she looking for? A murderer? A robber? A gangster? The same old same old she was sure. It was a bit of a relief really, do be finding some normal crooks. Mediocre ones. The simple ones that robbed a bank, stole some diamonds, bought some drugs. Shot someone. An easy job. She could use that. Her nerves were high tonight. Thinking about Clownie always got her nerves on edge. She didn't like the feeling over being vulnerable. No one liked feeling vulnerable. She continued to peer in the window. Maybe she was looking for a ghost? Ha. Unlikely. Iris wasn't superstitious. Superstition caused paranoia. A detective needed to be alert and fully intact. Then it happened, something touched her hair. Then she can smell a scent. It was musky, so familiar . Her eyes widened. It was human. Someone was behind her. She quickly snapped around holding her gun tightly. Her eyes were a little bit bulged and her cheat was lifting a little bit quicker than normal.

Then a voice from the darkness. His voice. She glanced around. Her torso twisting in different directions. This was when the nausea set it, she felt sick. Her heart was pounding harder than usual. That voice. That deep voice. The voice that haunted her dreams. She could hear it. She was dreaming? She had to be. He was in Akram. The asylum. He couldn't have escaped. It was impossible. This was a dream. She's wake up. She closed her eyes tightly and reopened them. No, she was still here. In the position she didn't want to be. This is who he got her last time. He wasn't going to get her again. God. She was stupid. It was basic knowledge. If you are a woman you don't go anywhere alone. Never ever. She shot in a random direction. She waited. A body didn't drop. She missed. She needed to calm down. She closed her eyes and drew in a few deep breaths, She needed to be calm. She needed to remember her training.

Her eyes traveled from each of the shadows she could find. But she couldn't see anything. Damn. Why couldn't she have night vision goggles? Like James Bond? She chewed on the inside of his inner lip, then he came. He was how she remembered. His green hair, messy and all over. His eyes dark, hinting how mangled his mind was. His height was intimidating. He towered over her. His torso was wide. She the noticed is crimson smile. That smiled that proved how crazy the man was. She swallowed. Out of reflex she snapped up the gun and aimed it at him. Her finger in the trigger. A lover's fight? Ugh. She did not love him. She tightened her grasp. He was sick. Sicker than sick. He was mental. She knew it better than anyone. She clenched her jaw.

"They are marks of a man who didn't know when to grow up." she spoke between clenched teeth. It was quiet. The sirens seemed to fade. She was just focusing on him. She could feel the scars begin to burn. This man was vermin. He needed to be squashed. She parted her lips to speak again but then another voice. Oh no. She began to pray he wouldn't find her. But the poor soul did. It happened to quickly. She watched an innocent man die infront of her eyes. The anger burned. She looked back up at him.

"You're disgusting. Our conversation is over." She took a step back as she watched him step over the slaughtered body. He wasn't going to touch her. She would shoot that damned hand. Her eyes lowered to the knife. She remembered that knife well. It often sliced her flesh. The hairs on her neck stood on end. Then she focused on his face. For once she actually scanned it. He could be handsome, If he tried. Wait. What was she thinking? He was an enemy. He deserved to die. Then she could feel her body ache for a touch from him. She fought off the urge. No dammit. That was wrong. She clicked her tongue.

"We aren't lover's. You are a villain. I am a law enforcer. Now you come with me, or I will make you come with me." Her eyes narrowed. She noticed he was talking about her body. Maybe she could use that? She popped her hip and rested her free hand on it. Straightening up a bit so her chest was more noticeable. Maybe some of her wanted him to stare at her body. Examine it. Want it.


	7. The Losing Team

She was rambling. Meaningless words were exiting those plump lips of hers-he was busy memorizing her face again though, taking in ever new detail-the healed scars, the hate that filled those eyes. It was delicious. "Or you'll what, detective?" Did he hear this right? She'd _make_ him? Oh no, no...that would not do! He could not be moved around by a woman wielding a weapon-he preferred to be the instigator of moving! Had she learned nothing? Or was his presence making her mind go in all directions? He assumed both. "Move me? With what? That...one-hundred something pound body and a gun? I don't think so...instead, how about we move you somewhere nice and cozy? Those assets of yours don't belong covered by a uniform. Let's try...nothing, next." The Joker let out a high pitched laugh, one hand on his stomach as he walked forwards slowly. "Ah-ha-ha, hoho-_haaa_." And off he went into a more realistic chuckle. Was she...was she using her body for something? Her stance changed from someone who was _shooting_ at shadows to some form of a seductress. A stranger was dead...blood leaving his corpse and down the nearest drain.

"Why are you here? Really. What do YOU wish to accomplish by taking sides with the losing team?" Joker was a curious human being, if you believed he was human-some thought he was a monster. Only monsters apparently could kill, and that was sad-it was an unoriginal and demeaning thought. Could the general public not think of something more imaginative? What about...a super-sane man? That about summed him up! A god in his mind and those that believed him, a mortal by those who wish to fight-who wish to bite back the hand that feeds their need for chaos. "This isn't my fault, is it? Ha! The little girl who lost her innocence to moi wants to exact her revenge through...police...work...that's beneath you." Joker stopped moving abruptly, he hadn't noticed that he'd managed to travel next to Iris, stopping mid step. Was he really going to walk right on past her? No. But he'd forgotten his plan! The whole scene of flaunting off her curvaceous body had completely tossed his mind from the current situation! How dare he let himself do that! That was an insult, a personal insult that he took to heart. So, being the little crazy-devil he was, he spun around behind her and dropped his knife to the floor. "You wouldn't shoot me...I killed one of your co-workers, an enforcer of the law. That gave you the right away to kill me. But why didn't you?" He asked, whispering the question in her ear as his hand trailed to her neck-the other roaming sneaking past her rib cage. "Is there something holding you back?"

The Joker was, in new age terms, feeling Iris up-grinning all the while before letting his hands freeze in place. "What's your next move? And be careful on what you choose-I would hate to lose you, but...unfortunatly, I'm unstable-you piss me off and I'll go blind with rage! Isn't that _hilarious_?" He laughed out, moving Iris' hair from her neck as he spoke. This was all his test-was she the type that let herself get manipulated by the hands of a man she had sworn to hate? He hoped not. He hoped she got disgusted and pushed him away. That was what HE wanted, the Joker wanted a challenge- wanted someone to break. Sure, he had Harley, but Harley was...well, Harley was Harley-she had an obsession with him on a romantic level-but he highly doubted that she'd satisfy him. It was a cruel thought and VERY self centered, but it was simply the truth. He'd never get rid of Quinn however, she was a part of him just like his laughter was a part of him-how his ever essence made him who he was-naturally. Then, before he could stop himself the Joker leaned forwards, licking the side of her neck with a smile across his face-stopping at Iris' jaw bone before blowing on the trail of moisture. "Bye bye, Iris. Be a good girl...be a very good girl and go back to where you came from. Tell the commissioner I say hi and above all things...if I see you again...you will be mine."

Joker was dead serious, but his voice was simply so unserious! He would kidnap her and he _WOULD_ force her into acts that made the normal person cry out bloody murder...and the best part, he'd do it all without an inkling of guilt. Awwww hell who was he kidding? He should just take her now! Brutally, barbarically and absurdly-what better way! Torture her in an alley when the cops were only just around the corner! How exhilarating! How absolutely thrilling! His hands dropped from her body, looking over to the knife he'd dropped and picking it up slowly, closing it and shoving the pocket weapon into his coat pocket. "Woman, such teases. Iris, you are a whore-the only difference between you and the common young bimbo…blonde slut is that you're mine, no matter where you go no man will satisfy your hunger. You didn't moan, I remember how you never enjoyed my touch, and yet I will say…I can tell…I can tell that you've become just as insane as any sex-crazed maniac out there. I've done my job." And he wasn't planning on reversing anything or offering the help-Joker laughed, turning on his heel. It was up to her, if she followed him he'd take her by force, if she went back then she'd be safe until they crossed paths again-either way, now that he realized she was in Gotham, she _WOULD_ become his.


End file.
